To Catch A Fallen Spy (Brethren of the Coast Book 8) (22 page)

Well Ross would waste no more time, on that account.

As the Corinthian columns came into view, he sped through the gates and proceeded to the portico. His horse barely slowed, as Ross jumped to the drive and dashed to the main entry.

Pounding his fist on the elegant portal, he shouted, “Open the door.”

After what seemed an interminable period, light shone beyond the glass, and Banks welcomed Ross.

But before the butler could extend a formal greeting, Lance, garbed in nightclothes and a robe, barreled into the foyer, snagged Ross by the lapels, and shook hard. “You gave me your word you would not hurt Elaine, and instead you destroyed her. I should kill you, here and now.”

“Lance, no.” Wearing what appeared to be one of her husband’s garments, Cara shoved between her fire-spitting spouse and Ross. “If Sir Ross did not care for Elaine, he would not have beaten a path to our home. He is here for a reason. Hear him out, and if we are not satisfied, you may dispatch him to his maker, and I will cheer you.”

Well that gave Ross cause for concern. “Where is Elaine? I must speak with her.”

“Why?” Lance shoved will full force, and Ross stumbled backward. “Have you not done enough? She was in tears when she arrived.” The marquess flexed his fists. “In tears.”

“And it is all my fault.” In that moment of truth, Ross realized something he had never quite fathomed, and he made a monumental and selfless decision. Pausing to gather his wits, he reflected on the reality he created. “There are things to say, and if Elaine still desires her freedom, I will let her go and never again darken your threshold.”

With a steely glare, his in-law pulled his wife to his side and sneered. “As if I would—”

“Lance, wait.” With a palm pressed to her husband’s chest, Cara stared at Ross. “Look at him. He loves her. More importantly, he is
in
love with her.”

“What?” At first, Lance scrutinized Ross, and he stretched tall for his lady.

Beneath not one but two penetrating studies, Ross vowed not to fail Elaine in the face of her relations. Given his blunders, he wounded his not so delicate bride, and while that could not be erased, he would embarrass her no further.

The repetitive ticking of the long case clock in the hall kept rhythm with Ross’s heartbeat, and each successive intonation chipped away at his demeanor, until he could tolerate no more. “Please.”

“She departed London for Sandgate Manor more than thirty minutes ago.” Lance snapped into action, released Cara, and caught Ross by the arm. Together, they hurried outside, where Lance held the stallion. “The coachman takes Oxford to Holborn and then navigates Cheapside to White Chapel. They will exit the city via the turnpike gate at Mile End. If you hurry, you can catch her before she leaves the environs.” As Ross shifted in the saddle, Lance passed the reins. “Tell her how you feel, Ross. She needs to hear from you.”

“Believe me, I will leave her in no doubt.” In a strange reenactment of an earlier scene, Ross heeled the flanks of his mount. “
Yaa
.”

With Grosvenor Square in his wake, Ross turned right on Oxford Street and set a blazing pace on the relatively desolate thoroughfares that snaked through the sleepy, pre-dawn center of the British Empire. Light spilled from the windows of a few bakeries, and he darted by more than one paper delivery cart.

Tradesmen and milkmaids dotted the landscape of Cheapside, and he dodged a few stray dogs foraging for food, but he never slowed his wild and reckless pursuit. Without care for his person, he urged his stallion faster, praying for some sign of the Raynesford coach. And all the while, he rehearsed one plea after another, hoping to strike an accord with his elusive and disillusioned bride.

Charging through the fog, Ross glimpsed a large black coach, stopped at the Mile End tollgate, and he slowed his horse when he spied the Raynesford coat of arms emblazoned on the side. “
Oy
, hold hard.”

The toll keeper peered at Ross, as he reined in and noted the drawn shades. “Good morning, sir. Are you traveling the turnpike today?”

“No.” He slid to the ground and hailed a Raynesford footman. “Take my lead.” To the driver, Ross directed, “There has been a change in plans, and Mrs. Logan journeys to Farm Street, with me.”

“Aye, sir.” The coachman dipped his chin.

Perched on the banks of his Rubicon, Ross grasped the latch, opened the door, and discovered his wife fumbling for her handkerchief. For a brief instant, she met his gaze, and what he caught sight of almost broke him. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“What are you doing here?” Struggling to conceal the fact that she had been crying, evidenced by her flushed and swollen flesh and tear stains that marked a solemn path, she tried to hide from him, but she lost the battle when he joined her in the rig, sat beside her, and pulled her into his lap. “How did you discover I left? Wodehouse was not to inform you until breakfast.”

“That you pose the question proves I have not done right by you, and you forgot something.” From his pocket he fished her betrothal ring, which he returned to its rightful place. “I thought you might want this on your travels.”

“Where did you find it?” She inhaled a shivery breath.

“It was on your vanity, which I spied when I sought your company.” He cupped her cheek and stole a quick kiss. “Must have slipped your mind, when you departed in haste to avoid detection.”

“I resent that, as I did not depart in haste.” She sniffed. “If you must know, I made plenty of noise, which you should have heard, yet I escaped with nary a protest from you. And you call yourself a secret agent.” Then she flinched, met his stare, and shifted in his arms. “Wait—you came to me? You entered my room?”

“Well, it is my house.” Trailing his tongue along the crest of her ear, he pinched her bottom, and she shrieked. “And you are my cherished wife.”

“Am I?” Trembling in his embrace, confusion invested her beautiful countenance, and she collapsed against him and burst into tears. “You finally came to me, and I missed it.”

“If you prefer, when we arrive, you may adjourn to your chambers, and I will reenact the scene.” As she wept, he rocked, back and forth, and daubed her cheeks and the corners of her eyes with his handkerchief, before offering a searing kiss as an olive branch, of sorts. “My darling, I am sorry I neglected you. I am sorry I made a mess of our marriage. But, most of all, I am so very sorry I let you labor under the misapprehension that I need you not.” Indulging the last of her cry, he cradled her head. “Do you not understand why I permitted you to linger in the shadows with me? Why I sought a place on your dance card? Why I kissed you in the garden at the Netherton’s? Why I married you with no protest? Why I guarded you against Waddlington? Why I confined you to our residence?”

Nuzzling his chest, she sighed. “No.”

The pedestrian response well night slayed him, as he had razed her faith to its foundation. “I did so because I love you.”

Anticipating a fresh deluge of emotion, she surprised him when she hiked her skirt and straddled his thighs. Face to face, almost nose-to-nose, she peered at him. “Say that again.”

“I love you.” The declaration came remarkably easy to him, in the glow of her unveiled elation. “And while I am convinced I loved Caridad, in my youth, what I harbor for you far surpasses what I felt for her, as I am
in
love with you. I know not how or when it happened, but you own my heart. Never doubt that.”

“Oh, Ross. I love you, too.” Twining her fingers at the nape of his neck, she covered his mouth with hers.

It was as if the clouds parted, because passion sparked, crystalized, and erupted, as Elaine inched closer, and he noted her position suited a particular activity. Although it was important to tell his wife of his devotion, it was far more consequential to show her what she meant to him.

Fumbling with the wool layers of her dress and the matching pelisse, he brushed aside the delicate fabric of the chemise and gripped her bare derrière. To his amazement, she scooted back, unhooked his breeches, freed his erect length, and lowered herself to take him in the most elemental method possible. As her tender sheath enveloped him in scorching wet heat, he groaned, but it was the relief in her expression that captivated him, when he realized his bride wanted him as much as he desired her.

And then his suddenly not so shy wife bolted as a brood mare at Tattersall’s.

Riding him hard and fast, Elaine gave him no quarter, even as he attempted to slow the advancing release, which she triggered far sooner than his pride would allow. Gripping her hips, he tried to temper her attack, but she would not be denied, and Ross surrendered to the most soul-shattering completion of his life.

Minutes later, he resurfaced and discovered her suckling his lower lip, and he tightened his hold. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Never would he apprise her that she shone with happiness. “And I want us to share a room, so you must always come to me.”

“I guarantee that will never be a problem, going forward from this moment, but I shall engage the services of Everett’s contractor.” As she licked his neck, he reclined in the squabs and savored her sweet affection. “Remind me to send a note, asking for the information.”

“Benson and Sons.” With an unutterably fetching grin, Elaine met his gaze. “I asked Sabrina the night before the wedding ceremony.”

“Well are you not the resourceful little thing? I will dispatch a missive, this afternoon, but only after I dote on my wife.” Ross chuckled but hissed when she squealed with delight and shifted, teasing him with an intimate caress. “And if you are amenable, we can occupy your suite, until our new accommodation is renovated to your satisfaction.”

“I would adore that.” A bump in the road jostled them, and she tensed her muscles, which re-stimulated his hunger and his body.

“So it is not too late to start anew, sweetheart?” Directing her movements, he initiated a slow dance, as he could not resist her. “I have not lost you?”

“Only if you promise to summon me with such terms of endearment, in the future.” And she bestowed upon him another overwhelming kiss.

“Would you settle for so little?” Clutching her hips, he quickened the pace. “Because I had thought to shower you with fresh flowers, bottles of lavender water, and Belgian chocolates, not to mention the odd piece of jewelry, with I prefer you model without benefit of clothing.”

“Scandalous, my devoted husband.” Her giggle worked on him like honey on a hot scone, and how he relished the joyful sound.

“Then let us commence our celebration.” In a flash, he pushed from the squabs and eased her to the opposite bench. With her legs wrapped about him, he assumed control of their interlude and thrust. “And I vow to begin and end every day with a declaration, that you might never forget how much I love you.”

With that, Ross drove his lady, their lips melding, their tongues taunting and teasing, sliding sensuously, and they soared beyond the confines of the coach, journeying to the fanciful arena, where passion reigned supreme. At last, he yielded to the unutterable temptation she presented. And England’s most decorated spy, the agent who lurked in dark spaces, the intelligence expert who captured countless villains knew not how he and Elaine made it home to Mayfair, but they were together, and that was all that mattered.

to catch a fallen spy

epilogue

November, 1815

Waves lapped against
the hull, as the
Demetrius
anchored somewhere in the Sargasso Sea. Standing at the bow, Elaine shielded her eyes from the sun, as it sank below the yardarm, and studied the approaching vessel, which presented a stark contrast to Lance’s elegant craft.

A bit tattered about the edges, and with frayed canvas flapping in the wind,
The Black Morass
looked more like a floating ghost ship as it glided to a halt a-larboard. On the quarterdeck, she spied Jean Marc Cavalier, complete with the ominous patch, and waved a greeting, and he responded with a slightly noticeable nod, which brought her alert.